


backstabber

by bunflower



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dadza, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not okay after the latest stream, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, So take my musings pls, Tbh this is just pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:09:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28583295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunflower/pseuds/bunflower
Summary: “I’m sorry.”Sorry. He was sick of hearing that word. Sick of having a blade twisted in his back everywhere he turned, sick of putting his heart on the line for a family that treated him as a tool....My take on the aftermath of today's festival.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46





	backstabber

**Author's Note:**

> After watching today's stream, I needed to get this fic off of my chest. Today's stream HURT and I know tomorrow's just gonna be so much worse. Poor Techno just can't catch a break, he's only got Phil left. 
> 
> Please accept my un-beta'd, un-revised musings while I go try to figure out what today's stream means for all of my headcanons.

The aftermath of the festival stung more than Technoblade would care to admit.

After the quick retreat back to his home came the dizziness and sudden weakness of the adrenaline fading from his system. He stumbled through the snow toward the cabin, his body functioning on autopilot now. His bruises ached, but not nearly as much as the hollow pit that had formed in his stomach ever since Tommy had said those cursed words.

_“I’m sorry.”_

Sorry. He was sick of hearing that word. Sick of having a blade twisted in his back everywhere he turned, sick of putting his heart on the line for a family that treated him as a tool.

A tool. That’s what he was. A weapon used by those around him to get what they wanted. First, it was Wilbur, and now Tommy. Foolish, heartsick Tommy. His youngest brother, who had stolen away into his home and back into his heart with his snappy remarks and bullheaded ways. Technoblade had welcomed him, thieving hands and all, back into his life. He had showered the boy with all he could offer, biting his tongue while he devoured stacks of golden apples and snuck off to his hiding spot with Technoblade’s treasured items. When danger presented itself, he had lied, threatened, and quite literally stood between Tommy and death. The normalcy of their constant banter and reckless escapades had been nostalgic, a warm reminder of what once was in their little family. Before they grew up. Before the war.

_‘Tommy._

_Little brother._

_Hurt us!_

_Left us._

_Traitor!_

_Backstabber!’_

The voices had plenty to say about his softness. Tommy had left him. Turned his back on him, rejected his help, and stolen away the axe Techno had given him to later use against him. 

_‘All good things must come to an end’_ , the man thought, as he numbly approached Philza, who was hard at work on his newest project, and blissfully unaware of what had transpired. His father was the only one who remained now--the only one he could fully trust. Phil was his rock, full of unconditional love and a steady, calming presence. He never asked questions, simply acted as a shoulder to lean on whenever his son needed him most.

Techno eyed the still-fading bruises on the man’s exposed ankle, and nearly growled aloud. His teeth gnashed at the thought of all the man had been through, killing his own son for their land’s dream, only for those power-hungry bastards to turn on him. His father’s flight feathers had yet to grow back properly, and more than once, Techno had caught him staring forlornly at the sky, longing to fly once more.

_‘Kill!_

_Blood._

_They hurt Phil!_

_Dadza._

_Blood for the blood god!’_

They would all pay for daring to lay their hands on him. His father had already suffered enough pain.

The numbness in his belly was beginning to burn, his anger and hurt and pain rekindled with new vigor. Tommy had left him. Betrayed him and turned against him, siding with the very same people who had turned him away. The same people who had imprisoned their father within his own home, who had tried to execute Techno. The very people Technoblade had been trying to protect him from all this time, since the very beginning.

Tommy was supposed to be at his side, where Techno could keep him safe. Instead, they were to fight against each other once more.

He couldn’t protect Tommy from himself. Nothing could protect him from what was to come.

A warm hand clutched his shoulder. He could feel the way Phil’s eyes bore into the back of his head with concern, the winged man silently offering his support without even knowing the cause for Tcchno’s pain. He shrugged him off roughly, not missing the way the older man winced at the blunt dismissal. It sent a pang of regret through his belly, but there was no time for apologies. No more apologies.

_‘Green man._

_Homeless!_

_Anarchy._

_Destroy!_

_Burn it all._

_Nothing left!’_

Dream was coming. He knew the other would find him quickly enough, and they would hatch a plan for L’manberg’s inevitable destruction. Though he hated Dream more than anything, even blamed him for Tommy’s betrayal--he could not accomplish his goal without help.

It was time for Technoblade to return to bloodshed. Time to pick up his old mantle, and bring down the corruption that had torn the only things he loved in this world away from him.

“You’re sorry?” He echoed his little brother’s words now, turning his attention up and away.

“Sorry, sorry, _sorry_ \--!” He muttered under his breath like a mantra, eyes wild and darting to-and-fro. Searching for something. Anything. The cobblestone tower was his answer, standing tall and silent, a painful reminder. Phil stood near it, arms wound tight around his chest and wings tucked close as if to appear smaller. His father knew something was wrong. Knew that he had finally lost Technoblade to the pain of the world, lost him to the voices he had spent so long fighting.

A bitter laugh welled up in Technoblade’s chest. It sounded broken and frail, so unlike himself that he was startled.

“You’ll be _sorry_.” His voice was ragged, choked, even as he bared his tusks and stared up at the sky, arms outstretched as if to embrace the sun. His eyes burned. Something damp and hot trickled down his cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

_‘Blood!_

_Kill. Destroy!_

_Finish this._

_Bye-bye L’Manberg._

_Bye-bye Tommy.’_

“You’ll all be sorry.”


End file.
